𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕕𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤

as imagined by aspen for divinelytm.

[prophcsy]

The following text has been faithfully transcribed from the ancient tongue into the modern language by aspen ( she / her, pst ) , for private use as professional agonist to nocturniafm. all events are true, and names have been preserved to honor the courage of those fallen. may their souls be commended to enerin and its deities.  

●  lady seraphyna tethalune, the blood priestess — biography , aesthetics . ●  lady nuray altinson, the lady of nightmares — biography , aesthetics . ●  ruling lord beric verathorm, the moonlake wolf — biography , aesthetics . ●  lady valkan athlyan, the night falcon — biography , aesthetics .

[talesinrequiem]

were all men like this – presumptuous? perhaps she had lived another life that informed her decisions in this one? a warning beforehand? the only man she need have in her life was the one as part of her soul. not man but dragon. if beric had bad intentions, even her sister would give her leave to tear his throat out with her teeth. an urge she had far too often with far too man. but instead, she let him speak and listen to his own words. let him assume what he wished, it certainly did scratch a worry in the back of her brain. perhaps he wasn’t far off? would lenore call it a two birds and one stone moment? 

“good.” morella provided when he was finished, because he was right. she would happily let him know he was incorrect in whatever he had done. but this moment was not for that. just for that, she pulled out the very last thing she had on her. carefully hidden beneath clothing, secured with a harness, her dark axe glimmered in the little candlelight as she placed it with the others. “if it ever comes to it,” she murmured, looking from her small pile to him again, “you may be saved by such.”

“while your candor is appreciated... there is more i need –,” she continued, frost cut eyes borrowing into him lacking any warmth he may have ever seen from the hues that were her twins. morella hated what came next. hated it would ever be something for her to admit. despised that she need ask it of someone. but as of late, he had been a constant she didn’t hate. she would have preferred to speak with sheng, but after their last discussion, she feared there was much on his mind. so, there was a trust she need give beric.

“i fear a time will come when i cannot be there for her,” her words were edged as if they were the blades she had removed from her person and laid at his feet. “can i trust you to be? without hesitation? without a knight’s morality?” slowly her words grew impassioned, she needed to know her sister would be safe without her eyes upon her. needed to know that someone would have her back relentlessly. “can you face a dragon’s fire without flinching?”

[prophcsy]

His gaze dropped briefly to the final weapon she revealed, the dark axe catching what little candlelight reached them. for perhaps the first time since the conversation began, beric looked genuinely impressed, not alarmed, not threatened, simply impressed. the corner of his mouth curved faintly. “i'll admit,” he said evenly, “that one was unexpected.” his attention returned to her as she spoke again, whatever trace of amusement had lingered fading into something quieter, more attentive. he listened without interruption, and as her words sharpened, so too did the stillness in him. there was no mistaking the weight of what she was asking now. this was no longer a sister's warning, nor a threat veiled as courtesy, this was trust being dragged across stone, reluctantly offered only because circumstance demanded it. when silence settled between them, beric did not rush to fill it.

“you ask as though i stumbled blindly into your sister's orbit unaware of what she is,” his voice remained low, calm, but something firmer had entered it now. his gaze held hers steadily. “i pursued lenore knowing her reputation. knowing exactly what blood runs through her veins,” a small pause followed, deliberate, “knowing she is kaelvorn.” the words settled heavily between them, “i did not choose her despite the dragon.” the corner of his mouth moved faintly, though there was no humor in it, “i chose her with full understanding that dragons tend to burn whatever gets too close.” slowly, beric's gaze flicked once toward the small arsenal now resting at her feet before returning to morella. “and wolves do not cower to dragons, lady morella,” there was no arrogance in the statement, only certainty, something old and instinctive. “they survive them. fight beside them. sometimes bleed for them,” his jaw tightened faintly before easing again, “so if what you're asking is whether i will stand beside your sister when you cannot, the answer is yes.” no hesitation. none at all, his expression softened only slightly, though the weight behind it remained. “without hesitation, without morality, if necessary.”

[aenaos]

A soft gasp of surprise spilled from her lips, soon chased by stifled laughter as he settled on top of her. Lenore yielded to his warmth without thinking, her body going limp beneath his. The pale light continued to withdraw, but her attention now solely rested with him. Her wolf. Her hands loosely settled atop Beric’s shoulders, feeling the shift of muscle, the solid strength of his frame. “Hmh… what a villain I am, leaving you to your rest.” Her words quietly hummed through the air. “Half an hour, truly? For decency’s sake, then, I will haul you out of bed next time the mood strikes me, and we will go through your belongings together.” Her eyes drifted downwards, watching his head move with the rise and fall of her breath. A tenacious, tender spark lit inside her chest, and she wondered if he could hear it. “That way you can answer each and every question that comes to my mind,” she finished after a moment, growing silent soon after.

The hush of the golden hours descended on the room again. Soon enough, Elaris Keep would stir and its rituals would begin. Torches would be lit, shutters would be opened and the hall would fill with footsteps. The silver night would beckon its inhabitants to roam, and mingle, and most importantly, don their masks. But not yet. Not here, where she could be something truer to herself. Her fingers lightly trailed between his shoulderblades, her touch soon weaving into a mindless pattern. The unhurried rhythm of his breath, entwined with hers, drifted slowly into the air, drowsy and unhurried. Her thoughts began to meander, settling nowhere in particular. Somewhere within the lull, her eyelids had fluttered shut. "Tell me something," she finally breathed, fighting her lethargy. "Something no one else in the world knows about you."

[prophcsy]

The faint sound of her laughter drew something dangerously close to a smile from beric, though it remained mostly hidden where his face rested against her. he made no effort to move, seeming perfectly content with his weight settled over her and his head against her chest as though her heartbeat had become something worth listening to. “how considerate of you,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep, “i look forward to being interrogated over every blade, book, and poorly organized drawer in this room.” dry amusement lingered briefly before fading beneath the quiet that followed. her fingers continued their absent path between his shoulder blades, slow and thoughtless in a way he suspected she did not fully realize affected him.

when her question finally came, beric went still. tell me something no one else in the world knows about you. for once, he did not answer immediately. instead, he lifted his head from her chest just enough to look at her properly, his gaze steady as if weighing whether to offer her something safe or something true. “you ask dangerous questions,” he said quietly, one hand rising to brush a strand of hair from her face. then the faint trace of humor disappeared. “before you, there were things i thought i'd never give up. my name. my title. my inheritance. everything attached to them.” his thumb brushed lightly along her cheek. “i thought those things mattered too much.” his gaze held hers, unwavering now, “the thing no one knows,” he said, voice lower, quieter, “is that i would give up every single one of them for you.” the words came without hesitation, which somehow made them heavier. “all of it,” his forehead lowered until it rested lightly against hers, “and what should concern me is that it doesn't even frighten me.” a beat passed. “losing everything else feels survivable, lenore,” his voice dropped to almost a whisper, “losing you does not.”

[celcstine]

lips  tremble  at  the  words  leaving  his  lovers  lips  .  his  palms  feel  sweaty  and  the  world  seems  to  have  stopped  spinning  .  the  cold  night  air  causing  shivers  down  his  fragile  body  as  the  man  who  always  forgave  him  stood  truthful  to  himself  .  oh  ,  how  he  wished  he  could  do  the  same  ,  to  be  so  strong  within  ones  self  and  not  forsake  everything  when  things  became  complicated  .  heartache  laces  around  him  ,  causing  the  usually  stubborn  ,  selfish  ,  vain  and  opportunistic  man  to  become  so  small  .  no  one  made  him  small  ,  no  one  but  the  man  before  him  .  emerald  orbs  turn  away  in  shame  .  for  the  heir  of  house  athlyan  was  right  .  whenever  the  world  became  too  much  ,  whenever  something  didn't  go  his  way  ,  he  decided  he  didn't  deserve  the  world  and  everything  which  he  craved  every  waking  moment  of  his  existence  .  ashamed  of  himself  he  clenches  his  orbs  tightly  together  ,  not  wanting  to  hear  the  reality  of  his  behaviour  ,  of  his  being  .  yet  everything  is  true  .

the  words  cling  to  him  like  leeches  making  him  feel  empty  and  hollow  .  they  were  so  true  that  he  keeps  clenching  his  eyes  shut  until  the  words  escape  his  lover  .  he  loved  him  .  wide  eyed  ,  frantic  and  in  shock  of  the  words  being  uttered  to  him  makes  him  feel  like  the  worst  individual  on  the  planet  .  he  loved  him  ,  the  words  he  had  never  dared  to  speak  fully  but  gave  with  his  body  whenever  the  two  met  .  his  palms  fall  at  his  sides  ,  his  emerald  eyes  fill  with  new  found  tears  and  as  his  heart  shatters  it  tries  to  mend  itself  as  well  .  "  i  love  you  too  .  "  the  words  croak  from  his  lips  like  unforgiving  words  .  like  something  he'd  dreaded  to  say  since  their  adventure  together  began  .  "  my  pathetic  little  heart  has  been  yours  since  the  beginning  ⸻  my  envy  of  others  in  your  circle  has  always  been  because  i  love  you  .  "  pillowy  lips  keep  trembling  and  he  wants  nothing  more  than  to  wrap  himself  around  the  man  which  confessed  his  heart  to  him  .  "  you  have  never  been  easy  to  let  go  ,  but  i  do  not  deserve  your  love  ,  your  gentleness  or  the  world  which  you  live  in  .  "  he  meant  that  ,  yet  he  wanted  it  .  he  wanted  all  of  it  .  "  i  am  damaged  beyond  repair  ,  wounded  from  birth  by  being  given  a  personality  few  can  understand  or  take  ⸻  i  am  who  i  am  ,  this  childish  ,  vain  and  awful  person  .  "  a  few  steps  are  taken  then  ,  he  can't  keep  himself  away  .  "  i  am  bad  to  the  bone  ,  i  am  selfish  all  the  way  into  my  soul  and  yet  i  know  that  i  love  you  and  my  selfishness  and  vanity  is  yours  ,  it  always  will  be  .  "  desperation  shines  within  as  fingers  curl  into  the  others  shirt  .  "  i  will  forever  be  this  horrible  thing  ,  and  yet  you  love  me  .  "  wild  orbs  search  for  answers  ,  for  anything  before  settling  on  once  more  being  desperate  .  "  i  love  you  ,  i  love  you  so  much  i  do  not  know  if  i  can  survive  this  world  without  you  -  i'd  rather  succumb  to  the  sun  than  dance  alone  ,  without  you  .  "  words  escape  like  air  and  the  vain  little  heirling  understands  if  he's  not  enough  ,  yet  he  will  cling  to  him  until  the  day  he  removes  him  from  this  world  .  like  the  moon  ,  chasing  the  sun  forever  .

[prophcsy]

Valkan went very still, for a moment, he simply stared at him as though the words had struck somewhere too deep to process all at once. after everything, after the anger and the distance and the weeks spent trying to convince himself that perhaps love could be starved if neglected long enough, lathander had chosen now to say it. a slow breath left him, unsteady in a way he hated as his gaze moved over him, over the tears, the trembling mouth, the desperate hands clutching at his shirt like letting go might mean drowning. it hurt. gods, it hurt. “you make this impossible,” he said at last, voice quiet and frayed at the edges. there was no bite in it, no real reprimand, only exhaustion. the kind that came from loving someone too much for too long. slowly, almost as though acting against his own better judgment, valkan lifted a hand and cupped lathander’s cheek. his thumb brushed just beneath his eye, catching the wetness there before it could fall. the gesture was unbearably gentle, instinctive, familiar. proof of everything he had just confessed. proof that even now, even hurt, his first instinct remained tenderness where lathander was concerned.

his fingers lingered against warm skin, “do you understand how cruel you are?” he asked softly, though there was no real accusation in it, only heartbreak, “you stand here and tell me you love me, and in the same breath tell me all the reasons i should leave.” his thumb stroked once across his cheekbone, his hand remained there, anchoring them both. “i know exactly who you are, lathander,” the words came low and certain, “i know your vanity. your selfishness. your temper. i know the uglier parts you keep throwing in front of me like weapons, hoping one of them will finally make me step back.” his gaze held his steadily, unwavering despite the ache in his chest, “and do you know what infuriates me most? that you still somehow doubt that i love every single one of them.” his jaw tightened faintly before easing again, “i love you with those things. all of them. not because i’m blind to what you are. but because i see you clearly and i stayed anyway,” his voice dropped even lower, “i am still here.” for the first time, something cracked fully in him. “but i cannot keep surviving the fires you start every time you’re afraid.” the words settled heavily between them, his forehead lowered until it rested against lathander’s, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. “i love you,” he said, like confession, like surrender. “but i need you to stop asking me to prove it by enduring your destruction.” his eyes closed briefly, exhaustion washing through him. “i am tired, lathander,” a breath, “so tired.” then quieter still, devastating in its honesty, “i can carry your darkness with you. i cannot carry it for you.”

[mortifere]

There’s  a  groan  of  a  wheelbarrow  that’s  lumbering  forwards  through  the  sand  and  dust,  the  heat  slicked  upon  their  brow  as  the  muscles  in  their  legs  are  burdened,  their  strong  servant  hands  wrapped  around  the  wood  as  the  sound  disturbed  the  other  guests'  repose  and  celebration.  Vaelor  does  not  speak,  only  allows  his  salt  eyes  to  quickly  glance,  fleeting  across  the  scene  before  his  gaze  falls  onto  Nuray’s.  He’s  drawn  back  in;  to  the  lull  of  her  cadence,  the  depth  of  her  words,  the  meanings  that  are  hidden  behind.  For  a  moment,  Vaelor  comes  to  appreciate  the  bluntness  between  them,  for  often  in  their  world,  ambition  was  concealed  beneath  courtesy  just  as  contempt  was  hidden  behind  gentle  smiles.  When  they  spoke,  all  filters  were  blotted,  blurred  into  oblivion  as  each  word  hung  with  its  exact  meaning,  so  when  the  heir  of  Drakathar  replies,  his  hue  of  voice  is  honest.   " And  yet  the  world  is  shaped  by  those  who  volunteer  anyway. "   For  those  who  stayed  silent,  lost  and  wandered  off  to  their  own  shadows,  where  did  their  truth  truly  lie?  Did  it  dwell  obediently  upon  the  tongue,  waiting  to  be  summoned  by  a  confession?  " I  don’t  find  that  change  is  wrought  by  only  sensible  men.  But  still,  if  the  crown  and  council  existed  separately,  every  coward  in  the  realm  would  call  himself  bold. "  His  voice  emerges  slowly,  scarcely  louder  than  the  commotion  around  them.  " And  such  a  burden  only  truly  matters  if  you’re  afraid  it  will  break  you. "

Slowly,  he  nods  at  her  words,  for  ambition  has  always  been  faithfully  worshipped   in  their  world.  This  time,  Vaelor  takes  his  time  as  his  thoughts come to him,  thumb  and  forefinger  circling  the  signet  he  always  wore.  Eventually,  the  words  he  speaks  are  a  tender  guidance,  cupped  in  his  own  preservation.  " Whispers  have  always  been  disappointing  company. "  It  was  a  simple  game,  two  truths  and  a  lie,  laced  with  the  aftermath  of  wine  from  the  tongue  it  came  from.  One  hardly  could  trust  the  corridors  around  them.  Vaelor  follows  her  gaze,  watching  the  wind  cut  through  the  banners.  " There  is  always  something  left  standing,  and  I’d  rather  it  be  the  things  I  chose  to  defend.  Your  house.  My  house.  Our  realm. "   Said  he,  no  weight  of  him  shifting,  no  breath  of  his  too  heavy.  " But  you  are  welcome  to  keep  your  concerns,  Nuray.    Or  to  remain  undecided.  You never did offend  me. "  Lips  cut  in  a  smile.  " I  find  it  a  healthier  state  than  certainty.  For you have always understood me better than the rest of this council. " And seen him better too. " I only ask that you continue to. "

[prophcsy]

His words settled with uncomfortable precision, touching places within her discipline she would have preferred remained undisturbed. her gaze stayed on him, though something quieter had entered it now. less guarded. or perhaps simply more tired. around them the courtyard remained in motion, servants moving, voices rising and falling, yet his final words seemed to dull everything else into background noise. the corner of her mouth curved faintly, though there was little amusement in it, “that may be the most dangerous thing you've said all evening,” she replied softly, not because it was threatening, but because it was honest. because some part of her knew he meant every word, her gaze drifted briefly toward the banners overhead, each hollow swaying in the desert wind like declarations no one had fully earned. “i used to think certainty was what made leaders dangerous,” she continued after a moment, “lately,” a faint breath escaped her. “i've started wondering whether it is conviction without scrutiny that does the greater damage.”

silence stretched briefly between them. when she looked back at him, the composure remained, but the distance had shifted, narrowed. “you ask me to continue understanding you.” the words came measured, thoughtful, “i can perhaps manage that,” a small pause followed, “but understanding has a habit of becoming difficult when institutions begin demanding loyalty over reason.” there it was, small, but unmistakable, a crack. her eyes held his steadily now. “and that is precisely what concerns me,” not him, not entirely. “because i am no longer certain that anyone remembers the difference,” the admission came quieter than anything she had said thus far, almost as though saying it aloud made it more dangerous. the corner of her mouth moved faintly once more, “so if i seem undecided, vaelor…” her head tilted slightly, “perhaps it is because i am growing tired of being asked to trust structures that increasingly grow greedier by the hour.”

[springscngs]

"The fortunate ones. Yes, quite." Amarei echoed, a pensive silence following the tail end of her words. It was an interesting perspective; one she herself would not have chosen. She would have looked, instead, for how starkly different childhood tales were to the cruelties of lived experience -- and how the only fortunate lesson was the one that was learned early, so that comfort was never mistaken for safety. "Do not trouble yourself with particulars on my account, my lady. I am certain there are many words currently employed to describe my house's claims and ambitions." A light exhale. "Indeed. And yet, there is no such thing as certainty in the game we all partake in. Nothing to protect a single one of us from ruin. Not pride, not title, not ancient lineage that stretches over generations, and across the bones of crownwearers long gone."

She appreciated the smile Lady Nuray offered, a gesture that bore the quality of being well-earned. It made her company all the more intriguing -- for they all knew to dole out silken courtesy, but a glimmer of sincerity here and there was a refreshing sight, even if it was one Amarei knew not to trust blindly. "You are wise to caution of unpredictability; but alas, some of us learned early that very little is truly in our control. And for every morsel of influence, we must toil and bargain for in equal measure." Meeting her gaze unhurriedly, she studied the other through a flutter of dark lashes. "Do you see merit in attempting to write one's own story? At least, where it is possible." It was an earnest question, for the undertaking met little understanding from many, and even blatant dismissal from others. But if she did not care to hear of Lady Nuray's opinion, she would not have asked. Amarei was ever the keen listener, when the answer seemed promising. "The past cannot be rewritten. But cards, when played with patience and care, may yet shape what is still to be told."

[prophcsy]

At first nuray said nothing, her gaze remained on amarei as the other woman spoke of ruin, lineage, and the fragility of relevance with the sort of composure that suggested these were not abstract philosophies to her but deeply familiar truths. around them the courtyard moved in practiced rhythm of an army, servants guiding yet another arrival toward the keep as though the fate of nocturnia was not quietly being debated between pleasantries and wine. “no,” she said at last, voice calm and thoughtful, “there is no certainty,” the admission came without resistance, “not in crowns, not in houses, and certainly not in legacy.” the corner of her mouth curved faintly, “history has never been particularly sentimental.” something sharper settled behind her eyes, genuine consideration, nuray did not rush to answer. instead her gaze drifted briefly toward the courtyard before returning to amarei once more. “yes,” she said finally, “i think there is merit in trying.” a small pause followed. “but i think people often misunderstand what writing one’s own story truly means,” her head tilted slightly, “most imagine authorship as control,” a faint breath escaped her, almost amused. “as though careful enough choices can guarantee a desired ending, when in reality the only authorship is how you handle what is thrown on your path.”

her expression softened then, though only slightly, “i don’t believe that.” the words landed with quiet certainty, “i think the best any of us can do is influence the telling while accepting that others will always add their own ink to the page.” a breeze stirred through the courtyard, lifting loose strands of dark hair near her temple. “the past cannot be rewritten, as you said. nor can the future be fully claimed,” her gaze held amarei’s steadily now, “but the present,” she pondered as a beat passed, “the present is where power actually lives.” for the first time, a touch more sincerity showed in her expression, not warmth exactly, but recognition. “so yes, lady velwyrn, i see merit in attempting to write your story,” the faintest trace of amusement returned, “i simply think wisdom lies in knowing when you are writing it,” her eyes sharpened ever so slightly, “and when the story has begun writing you.”

[aenaos]

Nuray Altinsoy was no tempest; she was the tide coursing beneath. Rhythmic. Controlled. Instinctive. Unseen until the moment the current swept your feet from beneath you. Her practice blade struck his side lightly. His body responded even as his mind lagged behind. He pivoted smoothly, feet shifting in the sand as he reset his stance. Only then did the implication catch up with him; were the point not wooden, she would have bled him. For a split moment, he nearly wished she had. A lashing deserving of his failing. Then disgust rose within him, not at her, but at himself. What was wrong with him?

“Oh my lady, I doubt anyone ever could.” He had meant for his words to be complimentary, but instead they came with a glint of teeth. Less rage. More wounded animal, for what was a knight but a chained dog? Once, Hiran had been honed into the crown's blade. Then a death-rot had spread through his marrow, making him brittle, unsteady, unworthy of his title. A festering sore lived inside him, and all he could do was lick his wounds and try to remain on his feet. Keep going. Keep fighting. Hope that one day the collar would ceased its chafing, and he would once again be content to serve.

She knew. “You’ve been watching me that extensively?” She saw. Hiran forced a grin. “Now I’m the one who is flattered.” His eyes never left her, their hues intensified by a focus so keen it almost seemed predatory, as if he were cataloguing her every movement, the better to unpeel her weaknesses like flesh from bone. “Although not everything can be taught by simple observation. Some things must be put to practice.” His shoulders relaxed, conserving energy. He sent her a faint smile. “So why don’t you try?” He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and raised his practice sword into a loose guard. Deceptively relaxed. “Stop your dancing. Come at me with everything you have.” He was a sword of the realm. He did not break. He could not—

[prophcsy]

For a moment, nuray said nothing, her gaze remained fixed on him as he shifted into that deceptively relaxed stance, loose guard raised as though he were offering her an invitation rather than a challenge. the corner of her mouth curved faintly at his remark. “thoroughly,” she corrected smoothly, “not extensively, there is a difference.” the distinction mattered, observation was not admiration, nor fascination. it was information, and nuray valued information far too much to waste it. rather than lunge forward, she stayed exactly where she was. circling once, slow and deliberate, wooden blade still in hand, watching him the same way a feline studied movement before deciding whether pouncing was worth the effort. “you do realize,” she said at last, voice calm, “that telling me to stop dancing is rather generous of you.” her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “it implies you've accepted you cannot catch me otherwise.”

the faint amusement faded as quickly as it came, something sharper settled into her expression now, more focused, more dangerous. “no,” she continued, the practice blade tilting lazily at her side. “that isn't what interests me,” a beat passed,her gaze held his, unflinching, “what interests me is that you're asking me to come at you harder.” the words landed cleanly. “which means some part of you wants to be hit,” silence stretched for a brief moment, warm wind stirring loose strands of dark hair from her face. when she spoke again, her voice softened, but only slightly, “because you're yet to notice something quite crucial,” her grip shifted on the wooden blade, “you aren't fighting me,” her gaze flicked once to his chest, then back to his eyes, “you're fighting something in there,” and then, finally, she pounced.

[wanshangs]

the genuine surprise, followed by the way her eyes widen, is more than enough of a sign to tell orion they were right. the way she says their name, followed by the flush of her cheeks, only reinforces that fact. involuntarily, orion takes in a deep breath, and goes still. the first thought that this brings is not relief, nor happiness. it is an ugly feeling that starts at the bottom of their stomach, something akin to fear; some form of jealousy that tells him she will leave, which is completely undeserving of the person she is. even if that's the truth, it's not fair, and they are upset that's the first thing that comes to their mind. their devotion to her is what helps them squash those feelings down, push them somewhere far away. her words are soft, and they do not look away from her expression for a second. her reactions hold more than the words can say, and they try to interpret every twitch, the way she looks away, how her voice forms the words. happiness there is clear as day to see, which is another step towards feeling happy for her. gentle hands reach out to take one of hers between their own, and a hum leaves their throat. they have been quieter than they intended, and they do not want it to make her feel alone in this. "it's not foolish..." they squeeze her hand briefly, in reassurance, a quiet expression of faith, of telling her they will be here no matter what. ( what they don't know is if she will, which is a terrible thought. so much so that they cannot bear to think it ). "you look happy. i'm- glad to see you happy." it is the wholehearted truth, even if there are dozens of other truths that fight within their mind. what they care about now is if this person is worthy enough for her. if they swear to make her happy no matter what. although if it was up to orion, no one would be good enough for seraphyna. "you deserve it, nana, you do." their hands tighten around hers once more before letting go completely. then, they cannot stop themself from asking. "do i know them? can i talk with them?"

[prophcsy]

Seraphyna simply looked at him as he took her hand, and something in her expression softened further. she had noticed his quiet, of course she had. orion had never been difficult for her to read, not truly. even when he said nothing, she could often feel the shape of what moved beneath the silence. his reassurance settled warmly against her chest all the same, and the gentle squeeze of his hands around hers made the faint tension in her shoulders ease. “i am happy,” she admitted softly. the words felt almost strange spoken aloud, not because they were untrue, but because happiness of this kind still felt delicate. her fingers curled lightly around his before eventually letting him pull away, “thank you,” she said quietly, “that means more to me than you know.” silver eyes lingered on him, affectionate and gentle, “and for what it is worth, nothing about this changes what you are to me.” the reassurance came unprompted, but instinctive, perhaps some part of her had sensed the unease he had tried so hard to bury. “you will always be my little brother, no matter who enters my life.” the faintest hint of teasing touched her voice at that, softening the weight of the confession.

despite herself, warmth rose to her cheeks again, a faint laugh escaped her, quieter and more embarrassed than before, “you are certainly moving through this interrogation efficiently.” she shook her head lightly, though amusement lingered in her gaze now, she answered after a small pause, “you know him.” the admission came with unmistakable fondness. her eyes drifted briefly toward the passing world beyond the carriage window before returning to orion. “ser hiran tripathi,” even speaking his name changed something subtle in her expression, softened it, illuminated it. “talk with him?” she repeated, and now genuine amusement touched her features. “about what, exactly?” though she already suspected the answer. the corner of her mouth curved, “if this is your way of threatening him under the guise of brotherly concern, i should warn you now that i disapprove.” the teasing faded into something gentler. “although i think you would like him, orion,” her gaze held his steadily.

[talesinrequiem]

quietly walking amongst the fallen, her eyes traced the garden as it seemed to try to claim those that were gone. there was a certain poetry in it that didn’t escape denma. death, was ever a companion to her. not as a living being but as knowledge. something she knew was always coming. an inescapable truth for most. while some tried to forget their losses with little memorial to remember them by, this garden told a different story. perhaps it was morbid, but it brought a smile to her face. to know there were others once that held loss as close to their bosom as she did.

the bells on her hip rattled softly as she walked. to some it was perhaps a solace and to others a warning. house fukuyama was near and death had stalked one around them only to claim them.

to whom her eyes fell upon in the darkness that was the garden of the fallen – perhaps it could be neither. while the apology hung in the air, denma shook her head and shushed the lady in front of her softly. moving her body to the same level as the other, she moved to hold the lady’s hands if she was allowed. “do not feel shame in this,” she whispered softly, even when she knew not what could have been causing such agony for the lady of eternity.

while the heir fukuyama had not been to the kal’thera coven to claim someone in some time, she knew of lady seraphyna. one of the rare immortals that still walked among them. touched by death in a different way than all others. marked by loss rather than claimed by it. perhaps sorrow clung to her in the darkest of hours? whatever it may be, denma would not press. it was not of her concern, what she worried for was the soul in pain. need the other be held? she would do so, without question or hesitation. need she be simply acknowledged? whatever the need, the ferryman would provide.

"i am here. you are not alone."

[prophcsy]

For a moment seraphyna could only stare at her through blurred vision, denma’s voice was soft and steady, untouched by pity and untouched by discomfort, and somehow that made everything worse. or perhaps better. she could not tell anymore. somewhere beneath the grief and humiliation and the desperate effort to remain composed. shame had wrapped itself so tightly around her heart, shame for crying like this. shame for breaking over love when so many had broken over death, shame for wanting comfort at all. when denma took her hands, seraphyna felt the warmth of another person anchor her to the present in a way nothing else had managed since hiran walked away. the apology died on her lips, her breath hitched instead. broken sound escaped her, small and wounded, the kind of sound that seemed torn from somewhere far younger than the woman she had become. for one suspended moment she looked as though she might resist it, as though years of grace and discipline might still hold. they did not. seraphyna moved before thought could intervene, trembling hands released denma’s only so she could throw herself forward, arms wrapping around her with startling desperation as if clinging to the only solid thing left in a collapsing world. the sob that followed was raw, stripped of every last ounce of composure.

“I tried—” the words shattered against another sob. her fingers clutched tightly at denma’s clothing, almost like a child terrified of being left alone in the dark. “i tried so hard not to break,” tears soaked freely into fabric as her shoulders shook, “i tried to be good, to be understanding, to let him choose, i tried—” her voice dissolved again, breath coming uneven and painful. every word felt like it scraped against her ribs on the way out. for the first time since the white oak burned, seraphyna stopped trying to carry her grief with dignity. she buried her face against denma and simply wept, “he left me,” she whispered at last, the confession so fragile it barely existed. another sob broke through her. she clung to denma like shelter, like sanctuary, and when she spoke again her voice had shrunk into something heartbreakingly small, “why does it hurt this much?” the question trembled between them, soaked in tears and disbelief. “i’ve lost so much, i thought i understood grief.” her hands shook where they held onto her, “i didn’t know it could feel like this.”

[vainglcriousx]

“ Sometimes the more velkynar there are around, the more alone I wish to be, ” Evandris said quietly, pausing in his drawing to observe the view of the city before them. He had already begun blocking in Seraphyna’s form before she moved, having locked the exact imagine he wished to immortalize on paper that had included her in it. A landscape scene was always a joy to portray, but something about a lonely figure looking over the scene created a more evocative image. Evandris liked when art told a story, and there were many things to be said of this. Why was she there, staring over the city? Was she their guardian patron, keeping close watch? Or perhaps she was a lonely lover, awaiting a companion who would never come. There were many ways to portray the scene, all up to the viewer. The truth could be something entirely different, and only for the woman in the painting to know. “ Though normally I adore it, there are times where the company of a great many others can be rather wearisome, wouldn’t you say? ”

She had joined his side, but still lingered above, seemingly uncertain about joining him in sitting. Evandris did not mind this, but he still made space should she choose to sit. While he had not spent a great amount of time with Seraphyna, there was a calmness in her presence which did not make him eager to either push her away or even act particularly winsome. Sometimes he felt compelled to put on a face, to act a certain way, to the benefit of the other. Perhaps it was because he was so focused on the drawing that it kept him in a very mellow state of mind. But there was also the fact that he had grown weary even with himself as of late, left with so much uncertainty about the future and the state of his carefully designed little world, that he found himself more exhausted than normal. It was why he had chosen to sit there and draw, it was a way to shape himself back to form, to keep himself anchored to something that felt innately him during times where he felt lost even in his own skin. He bit back his comment on the fact they were in fact dwindling in numbers the more times they met. First with the majority of the chosen, then with Lady Firuze, and now most recently with Lady Garramoth, it seemed that velkynar were dying off more often than not. But she was right in some ways — even with that reality, it felt like there was always another of them lingering around the corner. “ Well, I hope my presence is not too much of a damper upon your ladyship’s evening,” he quipped, allowing a lopsided grin to take to his handsome features.

“ Perhaps wait until I am done the drawing to determine if you should feel honored or not. For all we know, I may not capture your visage well. ” But Evandris knew that was not the case. If he was good at anything, it was in capturing the likeness of others and places. It was why he was well known for portraiture, as well as his landscapes. But he preferred the challenge of capturing someone’s likeness, the joy at them seeing how beautiful they could be portrayed upon canvas when it is the right artist doing the work. “ But if you allow it, then I will attempt to do you justice, my lady. ” He returned to silence as he sketched, watching as the wind stirred her hair and trying to match the movement in a still image. Enough so that even just looking at the work could make the viewer feel that warm desert breeze. He lifted his eyes when she asked the question, not pausing a moment before replying, “ Only when something truly beautiful encourages me to capture it. ” It was the sort of eye roll inducing thing that a foppish charmer would say, and after a moment he added, “ And at almost all other times. Between art and music, I fear I am not myself if I am not creating. It is perhaps the one thing that can keep me anchored to my true self. ” He paused then, in speech and movement, as if to allow the truth to settle within, before he resumed drawing. “ So what is it that has Lady Tethalune seeking solitude? ”

[prophcsy]

For a moment, seraphyna simply listened, her gaze drifted outward across heliophra as evandris spoke of solitude, of crowds becoming more exhausting the larger they grew, and she found herself understanding far more than she wished to admit. “i think that is the great irony of gatherings such as these,” she said softly, “they are meant to bring people together, and yet somehow they often make solitude feel even more necessary.” the faintest curve touched her lips, “not at all, my lord, if anything i suspect your company is considerably quieter than most i might have encountered elsewhere tonight.” there was gentle humor in the observation, though it lacked its usual lightness. silver eyes shifted toward the parchment once more, “you are kind,” she murmured, though the words came with the subtle understanding that evandris had likely said similar things to many before her. silver gaze returned fully to him then, studying him with quiet attentiveness, “i do not think that is strange at all,” she replied after a moment. “there is something sacred in creation, i think. to make something from nothing, to leave behind proof that you were here, that you felt, that you saw beauty worth preserving.” a faint pause followed, and for the briefest moment something fragile flickered behind her silver eyes. “sometimes it is the only thing that reminds us who we are when everything else feels rather uncertain.”

silence settled briefly between them, warm wind stirring loose strands of caramel hair across her shoulder. for the first time since joining him, seraphyna hesitated. the pause was slight, but real.,her fingers folded loosely before her as a small act of composure. “nothing so dramatic as you might hope,” she answered at last, and though the attempt at lightness was there, it did not fully mask the strain beneath it, “i simply found myself in need of quiet.” her gaze drifted back toward the horizon. “there has been rather a lot to carry lately,” a small breath escaped her, not quite a sigh. when she looked back at him, her smile returned, gentle and polite and just convincing enough to pass at first glance. “but i assure you, i am well,” the lie was graceful, practiced, almost flawless.

[wanshangs]

the comment is an olive branch, a graceful offer to save him from the pit of embarrassment he dug himself into. it brings a bashful smile on young nuwa's face as he finally gets up, and follows the lady altinsoy to the railings of the balcony. "that is kind of you to say. thank you." he offers this gratitude to the air, to the opening of the view in front of them, the forests that stretch out, the stunning nature that feels so fitting to heliophra. a hum leaves his mouth at the admission, though he cannot be sure if he shares the exact sentiment. by every objective definition of the word, the nature of braxigar cannot compare with rest of the hollows. "you are right- it is true that we tend to seek what we don't have." it makes him grow solemn, how much he wants to live elsewhere, how he keeps failing to do so. "though... have you been to braxigar? it cannot compare to heliophra or vallarion. objectively speaking." a lilt to his voice, a sign that he is joking, even if it is the truth. when she extends another olive branch, a much lighter laugh leaves his lips, lighter than it has been in a while now. "you are very kind! that will be the story i will tell." a hand goes to his chest. "cross my heart and all that."

[prophcsy]

The laugh earned another faint smile from her, small but genuine. it suited him better than embarrassment did, too many people had arrived in heliophra carrying the weight of the past month upon their shoulders. seeing even a brief glimpse of something lighter felt increasingly rare. “careful,” she replied smoothly as she settled beside the railing. “if you continue speaking so kindly of your hosts, people may begin to suspect i paid you,” the observation carried the shape of a jest. at the mention of braxigar, however, something thoughtful entered her expression, “i've never been,” the admission came easily. “though i've heard enough stories to know i'm unlikely to survive the weather,” the corner of her mouth curved faintly. “and yet, i've never heard anyone from braxigar speak of it with indifference.” that, more than beauty, had always interested her people complained about things, and then spoke of home with an affection that made the complaints sound almost fond. “which leads me to believe the place possesses qualities its ambassadors are simply terrible at advertising.” at his dramatic oath, her brow arched slightly, “cross your heart?” she repeated lightly, her gaze drifted pointedly toward the bottle still in his possession before returning to him, “i shall consider the matter legally binding.”

[aenaos]

...

The fading sun broke through a gap in the curtain, slender as a ribbon, awash with pale gold. The room itself remained darkened, awaiting the fall of dusk, silent except for the soft rustle of sheets and the steady interval of breath. With the slant of light as her guide, Lenore moved through the room, bare feet lightly meeting the cold stone. Her fingers ran across the grooves in the desk, winding like veins through the wood, across sheets of vellum, seals, and ink jars. Next came the books, which she leafed through by the faint light. The blades unsheathed with a whisper of steel, well-kept and sharpened. Careful not to nick herself, Lenore turned them at different angles, watching her own reflection in the metal, the way it blurred at the edges, splintered into facets of a woman.

Her study did not end there. Lenore carefully padded back to the bed, sliding between the sheets. First, the scar that sliced through his brow, rendering him wild even in sleep. His eyelids, closed—hiding away the deep depths of his eyes. His nose, the one she'd once tried to bite in an uncharacteristic fit. His mouth, which she lightly traced with her finger, its plush softness belying his teeth. Once her research had finished, Lenore shifted, hovering above him. The ends of her hair caressed his jawline as she whispered, “You almost look tamed like this.” She leaned closer, delicately kissed the corner of his mouth, and murmured, “Almost.” With a soft sigh, she shifted on her back. Closing her eyes, she drew another breath, adding, “Though you take an awfully long time to wake.” Nevermind that the sun had yet to sink below the horizon. Or that many more shared nights would now greet them. Beric had taught her many emotions, but the newest one seemed to be impatience. This should have troubled her. It didn't. Little did nowadays, when so near him.

[prophcsy]

Beric had been awake for considerably longer than lenore realized, not fully and not at first. awareness had arrived in fragments, the shift of sheets, the whisper of bare feet against stone. the quiet rustle of someone determined to investigate every corner of his chambers while believing herself unseen. he recognized her presence long before opening his eyes would've accomplished anything useful. so he hadn't, instead, he remained where he was, listening. to drawers opened, to books disturbed, to steel quietly unsheathed and examined. at one point he was reasonably certain she had inspected half his possessions. at another, he became concerned she might begin cataloguing them, the thought had nearly made him smile. then she returned, the mattress dipped beneath her weight. her fingers traced familiar scars and features with all the concentration of a scholar conducting important research, still he remained motionless, mostly because he wanted to see how far she intended to take it.

apparently quite far, the brush of her lips against the corner of his mouth almost ended the experiment. almost. instead, he endured another few moments before her complaint finally arrived. a faint breath escaped him, something dangerously close to amusement. “and yet,” his voice was rough with sleep, “you continue waking far too early.” before she could protest, a strong arm wrapped around her waist. the world shifted, she found herself deposited unceremoniously onto her back amongst the tangled sheets, beric followed immediately after. not to pin her but for his head to come rest against her chest as though it belonged there. “there,” the word emerged muffled, satisfied, one arm draped lazily across her waist while he adjusted slightly against her finding a position that suited him. “much better,” the fading sunlight continued to spill through the curtains while the room settled around them once more, only then did one eye open. “for future reference,” his voice remained perfectly calm, “if you're going to inspect all my belongings before dusk, at least have the decency to wake me for the interesting parts,” a beat passed, “i spent half an hour pretending to be asleep while you examined my every belonging”

[aenaos]

Who: Hiran Tripathi & Nuray Altinsoy @prophcsy Where: Elaris Keep training grounds

The violence sang thunderously, splitting the air. Only the faint sheen that glimmered on Hiran’s forehead betrayed his exertion. His body had been reduced to a vessel that required nothing but the bare minimum of care. He fed. He washed. He practiced. But there was no longer any pleasure in it—no, pleasure had died, burned to ashes in his mouth. From the wreckage, only duty had escaped. Duty and pain, which he now chased with the same devotion he had once reserved for another, and with the same relentless pursuit that made him master of bow and blade. Dust clouds parted in the wake of his feet sliding across the ground, swifter now, almost weightless. His body spun, muscle coiling with the ferocity of a wildcat as he delivered another blow.

Still, Lady Altinsoy had not lied. She looked forward to her victory, her ferocity nearly unmatched—but he was Ser Hiran of House Tripathi. He would only ever be Ser Hiran of House Tripathi now. And he conceded defeat to no one, not even to the lady of nightmares, not even to she beneath whose banner he lived and served. “Not half-bad,” Hiran drawled. “And here I thought your duties would leave little time for practice. I stand corrected.” A half-smile overtook his features, devoid of any warmth, a mere ripple of teeth. “Not half-bad—but not nearly enough.” With that, he launched back into a series of quick movements, aimed at unsettling her balance. He wished her even fiercer, wanted to be reduced to the strain in his limbs alone so he might, for one blessed moment, forget the festering wound that lived beneath his skin.

[prophcsy]

Nuray had known better than to expect restraint from him, the moment the bout resumed, she abandoned any hope of matching him through strength alone. hiran had always possessed too much of it, too much discipline, too much training. there were very few people in nocturnia foolish enough to challenge him directly and expect favorable results. nuray had never counted herself amongst them, which was why she sidestepped instead, his strike came fast, hers did not meet it. she pivoted around it. dust stirred beneath her boots as she moved out of reach, quick enough that the edge of his attack found nothing but empty air. the wooden practice blade in her hand tapped sharply against his side as she passed before she retreated once more. a point. barely. but she would take every victory offered. “careful, ser tripathi,” she replied, breath only slightly uneven despite the pace he insisted upon setting. “you'll damage my confidence.”

the dry observation was accompanied by the faintest curve of her mouth before she shifted her footing again. another exchange followed. nuray had long ago accepted that surviving opponents like hiran depended largely upon refusing to be where they expected. studying him as he prepared to launch himself forward again, something in her expression changed. “though if i'm being judged by you, perhaps i should take the compliment more seriously.” her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than the spar itself required. watching and measuring, the way she always did. “i only wish i could say the same,” the words arrived calmly she shifted her grip upon the practice blade. “because you're fast, as usual,” a pause, “as aggressive too.” her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “but distracted.” the thing she had noticed almost immediately somewhere behind his eyes. another slow circle carried her just outside his reach. “and before you insist otherwise,” she continued lightly, “allow me to save us both some time,” the corner of her mouth curved faintly. “you've attempted to knock me off my feet three times since we started and usually you wait until the fourth.” because she had watched him extensively, as she did most knights with his reputation.

[wanshangs]

there would always be a part of orion that remains a child within their sister's presence, and her soft reply only reminds him of this fact. it is much too easy to be reminded of their youth, of them following her everywhere, wanting to learn more and more about what she studied, what she liked. that part has not changed, but both of them have grown up now, with rocks of burdens filling their shoes, and fire that has taken so much away from them. and while orion cannot manage to forget what has happened, they always feel lighter within their sister's presence, as if everything can and will work out, as long as she's there, safe and well. one sentence in, and they have been read like a book. it's hard to stop the beginnings of a pout that forms on their lips, yet they manage to remain serious. this is a serious matter after all. while one could argue no imminent danger is on the horizon, the matters of the heart are perilous, as they are dependent on the will of someone orion does not know nor trust. it's another question if there is anyone on the face of earth they'd trust with seraphyna's happiness, yet they are wise enough to know it will not be up to them. "i suppose that is fair," they state matter of factly, and if they are told to be whining, they'd deny vehemently. "i know not to listen to winds of gossip..." is an odd way to start, as they focus on her reaction, head tilted. "but my gut tells me it is more than just that." they know perhaps they should ask this with more grace, more decorum. under her gaze, that thought falls apart, and the question comes through in the next breath. "is there someone who holds your heart?"

[prophcsy]

For perhaps the first time since he had spoken, seraphyna looked genuinely caught off guard, the surprise appeared plainly across her features before she could hide it, silver eyes widening ever so slightly as she stared at him. for a moment, she simply blinked, then another. as though trying to determine how exactly the conversation had arrived here. “orion,” his name emerged somewhere between disbelief and exasperated affection, the faint warmth that rose to her cheeks betrayed her before any words could. she should have known, of course he had noticed something, of course he had heard something. the thought alone drew a small sigh from her as she lowered her gaze briefly toward her hands folded within her lap. “the winds of gossip have become remarkably observant lately,” there was no real irritation in the observation. only mild embarrassment.

for a moment she considered deflecting, considered telling him he was imagining things. the smile that appeared this time was smaller than before, quieter, the sort of smile that seemed to belong entirely to herself. “yes,” the answer came softly. for a moment she said nothing else, though the longing that settled across her expression answered more than words ever could. “there is,” her eyes drifted briefly toward the carriage window then, toward the passing world beyond it. the movement gave her away more than any confession might have, because she looked happy. not the happiness she offered others so easily, something gentler, more precious. the sort people carried carefully, “i did not intend for it to happen.” a faint laugh escaped her then soft and self-conscious. “which i realize sounds rather foolish.” especially considering who she was, especially considering how many years she had spent believing such things belonged to stories and songs rather than herself. “but somewhere along the way he became very important to me,” the admission came quietly, reverently. “and before you ask,” she added gently, teasing him.

[mortifere]

When  Marya  comes  to  stand  closer,  her  footfalls  are  quiet  and  predatory  as  the  wind  rustles  through  the  strands  of  her  auburn  hair.  She’s  a  passage  of  breath  underneath  the  stones  of  the  tower,  and  with  the  stars  glittering  outside  the  windows,  Marya  once  again  thinks  of  the  handful  of  stardust,  fluttering  in  lavender  and  cerulean,  with  hints  of  honeyed  ivory;  delicate  like  floating  daffodils.  She  wishes  to  pluck  them  all  one  by  one,  and  feel  them  in  her  hands  like  pollen,  sharpening  her  skin  and  nails,  turning  her  into  a  walking  weapon.  How  easy  it  would  be  to  no  longer  grasp  a  handle,  but  to  turn  her  own  flesh  into  a  blade.  When  her  garnet  eyes  find  his  dark  locks,  Marya  lets  herself  linger  on  his  features.  " I  am  not  governed  by  my  appetite  like  ordinary  men. "  Said  she,  almost  bored  in  her  tone  and  directionless  in  her  weighted  lids.  Her  gaze  drifts  to  nowhere  in  particular,  for  boredom  in  her  mouth  never  was  an  absence  of  feeling.

" Because  they  are. "  For  what  else  would  they  be?  All  her  victims  were  kept  in  her  box  where  she  laid  claim  upon  them.  She  reveled  in  their  death  as  much  as  they  rejected  her  in  the  moment  they  knew  she  had  come  to  take  them.  " I  enjoy  my  possessions.  And  I  like  to  keep  them  close  to  me. "  Marya  thinks  of  her  room  in  Helia  Bastion,  where  her  trinkets  lay  stacked  upon  the  other,  taken  as  if  they  were  the  relics  of  an  inheritance,  as  though  they  were  always  destined  for  her  hand.  He  speaks  too  much,  she  thinks suddenly.  And  for  a  moment,  she  wishes  she  could  grasp  him  by  his  lapels  and  break  the  tower  window  with  his  weight,  but  her  tongue  stays  leashed  in  her  mouth  and  her  hands  stay  calmly  beside  her  as  she  lets  him  drone  on,  for  one  always  did  unsheath  the  path  of  the  labyrinth  of  their  mind.  Speech,  after  all,  was  a  trespasser  within  a  sealed  vessel,  or  a  coffin  that  was  held  shut  with  deliberate  hands  as  every  thought  broke  out,  finding  the  nearest  incision.  This  time,  Marya  decided  to  indulge,  to  give  him  an  incision  of  her  own,  a  small  glance  in  her  labyrinth.  " I  find  that  warnings  exist  to  test  convictions. "  Riddle  or  mockery?  " So  are  you  truly  so  untouched  by  influence?  Or  are  you  simply  selective  about  the  cost  of  it? "

[prophcsy]

Valkan simply regarded her for a lingering moment, the answer did not come immediately and not because the question was difficult, but because it deserved more consideration than most people gave it. around them the wind continued its slow passage through the terrace, carrying with it the distant sounds of heliophra below. neither seemed particularly interested in them. “untouched?” the corner of his mouth curved faintly, “no.” the admission arrived without hesitation, “i've never met anyone untouched by influence.” his gaze drifted briefly toward the stars overhead before settling on her once more, “people like to pretend otherwise. it sounds better than admitting most of our decisions are shaped by things we didn't choose.” family, duty, love, fear, the ghosts of old mistakes, all invisible hands guiding the course. “the difference is that some influences arrive honestly,” a small pause followed, “and others disguise themselves as destiny.”

his attention lingered on her for a moment longer, thoughtful rather than defensive, “so no, i don't think warnings exist to test convictions.” the faint amusement returned. “i think they exist because somebody else already paid the price of ignoring them.” whether he followed them was another matter entirely, at that, his gaze lowered briefly to the stone beneath their feet before returning to her. “as for being selective about the cost,” that earned something almost resembling a laugh. “i would hope so.” because what was the alternative? to surrender equally to every cause, every person, every desire that crossed one's path? that sounded less like conviction and more like drifting, “everything costs something,” his voice remained calm, “the trick is deciding what you're willing to lose before you reach for it.” for the first time his eyes narrowed slightly, studying her with open curiosity, “though judging by the way you speak about possessions, i suspect your answer would be very different from mine.” his gaze flicked briefly toward her hands, then back to her face, “you strike me as someone who takes what she wants first and worries about the cost afterward.”

[celcstine]

emeralds  lock  upon  lover  and  find  themselves  utterly  at  a  loss  .  he'd  been  such  a  child  in  front  of  him  back  in  celembron  .  he'd  uttered  every  hateful  word  he  could  to  make  sure  the  man  before  him  would  never  like  him  ,  to  stop  loving  him  ,  if  he  ever  did  .  yet  ,  here  he  stood  now  ,  somewhat  content  with  his  family's  legacy  ,  with  what  little  remained  of  it  .  what  a  fool  he  had  been  ,  what  a  complete  mess  who  had  decided  to  ruin  every  friendship  ,  every  love  and  devotion  just  because  he  believed  everything  was  gone  .  valkan  had  never  left  ,  he'd  simply  endured  his  antics  and  inredibly  stubborn  streaks  .  he  would  understand  if  he  never  wished  to  look  upon  him  again  .  however  ,  when  he  did  tears  form  upon  emerald  orbs  and  even  if  they  don't  spill  ,  the  desperation  is  fully  there  .  "  it  brought  my  family  a  new  home  ,  yet  i  tried  to  destroy  the  one  home  i  never  wished  to  fully  let  go  of  -  "  lips  tremble  ,  pillowy  lips  are  desperate  for  touch  and  yet  he  knows  he  doesn't  deserve  it  .

a  few  more  steps  are  taken  towards  the  heir  ,  steps  which  are  criminal  if  he  should  say  so  himself  .  he  was  such  a  greedy  lord  .  so  selfish  and  self  -  centered  and  yet  he  may  have  destroyed  the  best  thing  that  ever  befell  him  within  a  night  .  within  a  desperate  night  of  drunken  foolishness  and  harsh  words  lover  never  deserved  to  hear  .  "  i  was  lost  -  "  shaking  his  head  and  stuttering  his  words  ,  single  tears  escape  eyes  .  "  i  will  beg  for  forgiveness  until  the  day  you  can  look  at  me  with  anything  but  dismay  .  "  he  hated  it  ,  to  beg  and  plead  ,  but  for  him  ?  he'd  do  it  every  night  if  he  wished  it  .

[prophcsy]

For a long moment, valkan simply watched him, the tears should have made this easier. perhaps once they would have, once, the sight of lathander upset would have been enough to unravel every defense he possessed. now all it did was leave something heavy sitting beneath his ribs. because none of this was what he had wanted. his gaze dropped briefly as lathander stepped closer before lifting again. he did not move away, he did not move toward him either. “don't,” the word came quietly, “don't stand there and promise me a lifetime of begging.” a faint shake of his head followed, the garden seemed strangely silent around them now. “you always do that,” his eyes drifted away for a moment, toward the winding paths beyond them, “you turn everything into the end of the world,” the observation lacked its usual bite, if anything, it sounded sad. “you decide everything is lost, so you burn it down yourself before anyone else gets the chance,” only then did he look back at him, “and then when the smoke clears, you stand in front of the ruins and wonder where everyone went.”

the words settled between them, not accusation but truth, the sort that hurt because both of them knew it. valkan exhaled slowly, “i know you were lost.” because that had never been the problem, because even at his angriest, he had known exactly what had driven lathander to say those things. fear, grief, desperation. “what i'm struggling with,” he admitted quietly, “is that you looked at me while you were drowning and decided i was something you needed to throw overboard.” for the first time, something cracked beneath the composure he had worn since arriving in heliophra, hurt, plain and undeniable. “do you have any idea what that felt like?” his voice remained calm, “to spend all this time believing i knew where i stood with you, only to discover i was apparently the easiest thing in your life to sacrifice.” the confession lingered in the air between them, after a moment, he laughed softly through his nose, humorless. “and the worst part is that i still love you,” there it was, his gaze held lathander's steadily. “i will always love you, no matter how much it hurts me.”

[celcstine]

as  the  glimmers  of  the  rising  sun  was  blocked  from  his  vision  eyelids  grew  closed  .  screeches  ,  screams  and  beastly  sounds  echoed  inside  his  mind  .  perhaps  he  forgot  for  a  second  that  she  was  there  in  the  room  with  him  ,  trying  to  comfort  someone  who  could  never  be  comforted  again  .  would  this  be  it  ?  was  this  the  beginning  of  an  era  everyone  believed  braxigar  to  be  ?  would  he  assemble  the  forces  of  his  hollow  ,  those  willing  and  forced  to  fight  the  council  and  their  depraved  view  of  what  was  needed  and  what  was  not  ?  or  would  he  do  the  opposite  ?  would  he  continue  his  search  for  what  was  rightfully  their  world  fundamental  beginnings  and  keep  to  it  ?  to  give  warmth  instead  of  fear  ?  the  idea  of  comfort  sickened  him  beyond  belief  and  as  onyx  hues  once  more  fell  upon  daughter  of  elaris  keep  ,  sadness  clouded  them  ,  along  with  hatred  polished  by  vengeance  .

"  if  you  could  bring  her  back  ,  you  wouldn't  either  "  .  a  statement  ,  one  not  made  out  of  hatred  ,  but  simply  out  of  observing  and  what  his  view  of  the  altinsoy  was  .  "  perhaps  you  are  unaware  ,  perhaps  we  are  being  made  fools  by  a  council  once  run  by  selfish  creatures  .  "  a  sickening  smile  comes  across  his  lips  then  ,  then  the  chuckle  which  echoes  with  a  man  dying  without  his  last  breath  .  "  there's  more  to  my  wife's  death  than  some  vengeance  of  a  fool  or  a  council  wanting  this  ⸻  why  would  they  want  this  ?  my  own  son  sits  upon  the  council  ..  "  a  growl  escapes  at  the  mention  as  fury  is  still  laced  around  him  for  his  sons  betrayal  to  everything  they  stood  for  .  "  he  might  be  a  fool  but  he  is  no  kinslayer  ,  that  son  of  mine  would  never  hurt  his  mother  .  "  the  anger  seeps  into  him  ,  causing  delirious  images  to  flash  as  the  madness  of  braxigar  swims  in  joy  around  him  .

"  do  you  think  relief  is  possible  for  me  ,  nuray  ?  "  onyx  hues  fall  upon  hazel's  .  locking  in  with  such  determination  the  broken  man  seems  to  begin  to  rise  ,  to  have  found  his  answer  within  the  darkness  of  her  company  .  perhaps  not  what  she  wanted  ,  perhaps  anything  but  what  she  believed  would  come  out  of  this  .  "  i  will  feel  no  relief  ,  no  happiness  ,  no  glee  nor  joy  in  my  life  ever  again  ⸻  it  has  been  stolen  from  me  .  "  slow  and  steady  words  ,  yet  so  harsh  they  could  cut  .  "  this  world  deserves  no  new  beginning  ,  not  while  those  greedy  for  power  cling  to  it  with  limbs  and  claws  .  "  he  trembles  in  his  seat  ,  not  from  pain  or  fright  ,  but  from  rage  ,  unending  rage  .

[prophcsy]

For a long moment, nuray remained silent, she listened to him without interruption, allowing the anger to spill where it needed to, allowing the grief beneath it room to breathe. his words settled heavily within her, perhaps because part of her wished to dismiss them, and another part no longer could. something flickered across her features, hurt, brief enough that it vanished almost immediately. “you think too highly, or too poorly of me,” the admission came quietly and honestly. her gaze drifted toward the floor before returning to him. “if i could return the dead to life i would, i would give anything to see my sister again.” for a moment, the room seemed to grow smaller around them, “perhaps we have all been made fools of,” the words felt dangerous, “perhaps we are standing inside a story much larger than we realize.” her gaze held his steadily, there had been a time she would have defended the council without hesitation. spoken of duty, necessity, order. but for the first time in many years, certainty failed her. “i do not know who is responsible,” she continued carefully, “and i do not know what truths remain hidden from us,” the admission tasted bitter. “but i know enough to no longer believe that ignorance and innocence are always the same thing.” at the mention of his son, she saw the fury that accompanied it, the wound beneath the wound, grief tangled with betrayal until neither could be separated from the other.

The determination in his gaze struck her harder than the anger had, because she realized then that he had already chosen a path, he simply had not begun walking it yet. for the first time since entering the tower, uncertainty touched her, real uncertainty and not for herself but for him. “no,” she answered honestly, her voice remained soft, “not now.” there was no comfort offered in the words. no false promise that time healed everything. she respected him too much to insult him with such things. “i do not think there is anything i could say that would lessen this,” slowly, she turned back toward him fully. “if i lost my sister in the manner you did, i would tear this world apart searching for someone to blame.” the confession escaped before she could stop it. her gaze held his, “and if someone stood before me speaking of patience and reason, i imagine i would hate them for it.” the corner of her mouth twitched faintly, not quite a smile, something sadder. “so i will not ask you for either.” he trembled with rage, she could see it now, could almost feel it radiating from him. “but i think there is a difference between seeking justice and feeding your grief to something that will never be satisfied, ” her voice lowered. “and i fear there are many people in this world who would gladly hand you more reasons to hate and watch you spiral down as their only goal.”

for a moment she simply looked at him, at the man grief was reshaping before her eyes, “i cannot stop you from becoming whatever this loss asks you to become, kaelen, ” his name came quietly, strange on her tongue. “i only hope that when the blood settles and the answers finally come, there is still enough of you left to recognize yourself.” the room had grown noticeably brighter while they spoke. dawn pressing insistently against the glass. nuray's gaze shifted toward the windows before she crossed the distance between them, without ceremony, she reached for the curtains and pulled them closed one by one, shutting out the advancing sunlight until only the glow of lanterns remained. the tower fell back into shadow, into something safer, only then did she turn back toward him. remaining.